Summer Heat
by ehripaint
Summary: Roy is an ambiguous character who constantly seems to linger in Cole's thoughts. "You and your black and white ideals. How could I keep myself amused otherwise?" "I amuse you now, Roy? I thought we couldn't stand the sight of each other." SLASH. Rated M to be safe. Roy Earle / Cole Phelps
1. Justice

SUMMER HEAT.

* * *

I own nothing. LA Noire belongs to Rockstar.

* * *

Pairing: Roy Earle / Cole Phelps

* * *

"Is there something on my face, Roy?"

Roy Earle snapped out of his trance, blinking profusely. They were currently in his Cadillac, Cole in the driver's seat with his hands not on the wheel, but clutching his little notebook like usual. The LA heat was getting to his head, his thick fedora feeling like it wrapped tightly around his slicked back hair. He muttered half-heartedly, "Your eyes are too close together, Cole."

Phelps wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes in annoyance, "Another comment on my appearance," he deadpanned as he lightly shook his head from side to side in disapproval.

"Yeah, yeah…" He flapped his hand up and down, hoping to dry the sweat. "Step on it – I'm practically melting right now." He almost cursed himself inwardly for having purchased a car with leather seats in LA. At first glance, they looked nice and accommodating. Accidental spills could easily be wiped off the smooth surface and Roy could live with the comfort that they wouldn't wear away as fast as the cheap fabric seats of other cars. Yet to his displeasure, they overheated heavily under the sun, and Los Angeles was all about the sun. "Turn the AC on," he grumbled as he pointed to it.

"You could've dressed lighter," Cole said, starting up the engine while Roy continued to flap his hand impatiently on the side.

"I'd sooner go naked than follow wardrobe advice from the likes of you," Roy said dryly. He would've accompanied a sneer to the jibe, but his face was stinging from being under the sun so long. He instead wordlessly pointed to the AC once more.

Cole rolled his eyes, reluctantly turning the knob to put it to maximum. He usually argued back when Roy was being even more of a demanding prick, but he was also wearing thin due to the sleepless night on the job.

They had taken turns driving as they trailed one suspect to another, Cole driving the majority of them as Roy dozed off comfortably beside him. He had developed slight bags under his eyes, but he was adamant on staying awake until the end of the case. That is, if they could catch a break once in a while. The trail of crumbs left for them were quickly being eaten away as they reached one dead end after another.

It wasn't long until Roy made a snide remark pertaining to the success rate of the case. "At this rate, the culprits are probably a thousand miles from this place, partner," Roy groaned, his arms placed comfortably behind his neck. He was practically lounging in the passenger rate, Cole his personal driver.

Cole was straining his eyelids to stay open. His voice came out groggy but stern, "Drug dealers without an ounce of a conscience supplying minors. Four are dead, many are hospitalized." He added: "Traces of the drug are unidentifiable. Manmade most likely."

"Yeah, I was in the briefing room too, Cole," Roy said idly, peering out to the side. He turned his head back to face him, "What of it?"

He furrowed his brow as if Roy was questioning the most evident thing in the world. "As in, they are highly immoral and should be put behind bars," Cole said matter-of-factly.

Roy exhaled noisily, purposely in earshot of Cole, "So should many others." His tone was very serious, as if he were lecturing Cole. "…But not every scumbag is so neatly put behind bars. Many criminals slide, Cole. You _need_ to get that through that thick skull of yours."

Cole's lips twisted in to make a sour face, "So are you suggesting we simply give up, Officer?"

He snorted. Cole always had this habit of referring to Roy with a title of Officer or Detective whenever they were at their most severe tumbles, reducing Roy to just his occupation. He put on a voice of mock kindliness. "No, no… I'm just suggesting that this might be a dead end case." His voice sounded slick as oil, "If worst comes to worst, Phelps, interrogate a man enough and he might confess to things unheard of."

_Does he trust me this much to suggest such things openly? _Cole flinched. _Then again, it isn't a big secret how corrupt of a cop Roy is. _He stayed quiet and Roy continued, mistaking the appalled silence for quiet consideration.

"There's a child rapist behind bars right now. Also known for supplying street drugs to minors," he quietly spoke. His eyes fleeted over Cole dreamily. "No one's going to miss him."

"Roy, the cases we solve are to be ruled from merit and solid evidence, not from fear."

"Bullshit," Roy grumbled unclearly. "Everyone has a dream, Cole, and yours seems to be some mediocre quest for respect and admiration." _So, why not a short cut?_

Cole spoke louder than intended, "And yours of status and wealth. Whose is more honorable, Roy?"

"_Honor_, Cole? Are we going to be knighted now?" Roy bit back the acidity seeping into his words and tried to sound reliable, but what was done was done, and Cole seemed aggravated. "… Cole. We've been partners long enough. I'm willing to extend a bit of trust if you are."

"Oh? That's not something you hear every day," Cole grumbled. Roy was hardly someone he wanted to voice the truth to, not when he was still unable to do it to people he thought closest. The last thing he wanted to do was to reciprocate the other's bizarre attempts at friendship.

"God, Cole… Stop, you're hurting my feelings," Roy said unenthusiastically.

"I find it amazing how you still talk _feelings_ when you turn a blind eye to the worst of humanity." He had his eyes fixed on the road, unwavering.

"I snub my cigar out every time, Cole."

Cole blinked twice. He seemed puzzled. "What are you –?"

Roy's stark blue eyes dimmed. He continued, interrupting Cole. "_But_, I don't take up the firefighter outfit and rush into a building already ablaze. Though God knows I'd look damn good doing that."

He was flabbergasted. Most men would be too ashamed to admit to such cowardice, to admit to such selfishness, but Roy was doing so brazenly, as if it were something perfectly acceptable. He didn't even try to rebuff it out of denial; he was at complete ease being self-absorbed. Cole felt his jaw slacking in disbelief, "You're supposed to put the lives of others above your own."

Roy's patience was growing thin, and the rumbling in his voice revealed it. "I hold up arrest warrants to every petty gangster and drug lord littering the town, garner their hatred… And you know what'll happen? People will find me dead in my shower the next day, records will say I slipped on soap and hit my head on the tiles, and that'll be the end of me." His voice went a little weighty, not the lighthearted tone of usual. Roy was sounding more akin to a hardened veteran than his usual flighty celebrity, "The reward for selflessness is death here."

Cole thought silently to himself, _Sounds like you speak from experience._

Roy brought his cigarette to his lips. "If every officer went by your vision of justice..."

Cole shuffled, stifling his words and adjusting his shoulders.

"They'd be _dead_, Cole. There wouldn't be an LAPD." He exhaled, the smell of smoke suddenly burning Cole's lungs.

That left Cole seething with rage, his open-mindedness gone. Every night, he had recurring nightmares of his mistakes during his recruitment in the Marine Corps. He was foolish at the time, so self-assured about leadership skills he never possessed in the first place. He had commanded his troop to failure, made grievous mistakes kept hidden to this day, yet he was still the one to be honored medals and given titles clearly undeserved. And Roy, someone who was opposite everything Cole believed in, someone who didn't know an ounce about him personally, was still capable of seeing his flaws bright as day. He cursed him spitefully, "Go to hell."

Roy chuckled, then replied seamlessly as if he'd been readying the counter response, "I'd rather live a long, fulfilling life and go to hell, than go to heaven a saint now."

Cole found himself at a loss for words. He was having a hard time trying to get back on track. For a second there, he almost forgot where they were going and fought the silent urge to check his notebook.

Sensing the edgy air about Cole, Roy scoffed lowly, "You and your black and white ideals." He chuckled darkly, "How could I keep myself amused otherwise?"

"I amuse you now, Roy? I thought we couldn't stand the sight of each other," Cole said cynically. He was being frank about his stance with the corrupt detective. Roy had little sense of honor, not bothering to hide the deceit and fraud that surrounded his title as most senior detective in Ad Vice. Frankly, he was cruel, intimidating to a fault to hapless suspects who'd often yield more out of fear than guilt. He found the good cop, bad cop routine futile as Roy's bad cop overshadowed him almost every time. Cole wondered how he had managed to achieve such a rank in the first place, noting how little official merit he possessed as a man of the law. Was he a close relative of someone in the department? Or the son of some well off corporate executive? Or, possibly, was Roy at some point in time a truly honest cop?

Roy began to laugh, each one bouncing off the other softly.

Cole flinched but managed to mask his surprise with idle shuffling in his seat. The timing had been perfect, as if Roy himself doubted his own innocence. Although still in a sour mood, Cole had most of his resentment buried at that point. He was to only gift the other cold indifference.

Roy's laugh had died down at that point, and Cole felt eyes boring into his side.

He wiped absentmindedly at the sweat at his brow. Cole's thoughts seem to be occupied by said man more than usual nowadays. Roy chatted up Cole left and right day by day, probing his past or congratulating him for his achievements, his tone biting or affable, a devious glint always accompanying his ice cold gaze. And not before long, Cole had noted that Roy had capably kept up that defense mechanism himself.

From the inner flap of his coat, Roy removed a cigarette from a concealed pocket and lit it as Cole pulled in at a red light. The heat was still scathing, but luckily they were out of the suburbs and under the shade of the tall buildings looming over them. He inhaled slowly and breathed out calmly, a puff of smoke travelling out in a swirling motion over his face. He gave one concise chuckle and his reply came belatedly, "Well, I tend to enjoy the view."

Cole had almost forgotten their line of conversation, but as soon as the bulb lit over his head, he coughed nervously. He tried to pass it off as aversion to the cigarette smoke. "I beg your pardon?" Typically, Roy would say unusually flirtatious lines from time to time, such as referring to their cases as "dates," but this time it felt oddly different. Cole would generally attribute this kind of behavior to Roy's contemptuous nature, but sometimes, like this instance, it would feel bizarrely intimate. Cole felt ambivalent. _How can he just do that? How can he just turn around and pretend nothing happened? _He wanted to diagnose the other with mood swings, but even that didn't seem to be the case. Roy just didn't seem to give a fuck about anything or anyone.

Roy closed his eyes and leaned back, cigarette still in his hand. "You heard me." His smirk was gone, his mouth relaxing as it exhaled another lungful of tobacco. He didn't bother to acknowledge Cole with a sideways glance, choosing instead to look vaguely interested at the label wrapping around the disposable lighter. He couldn't recall the name of the restaurant he had received it from.

Cole was beginning to grow ever so slightly nervous from the tense atmosphere. A small bead of sweat travelled down from his forehead to the nape of his neck, and he silently gulped. Before he could stop himself, Cole blurted out a question, "And just what is there to view?"

Although he wasn't going to be admitting it any time soon, Roy was caught off guard, feeling considerably flustered at such a direct question to his antics. Cole hadn't called to attention any of Roy's teasing before, so he was understandably surprised to see the other starting now. He hadn't meant much by the flirtatious banter, but it was rare to see a side of Cole that was so openly baffled and so genuinely curious. It was almost cute. _Almost_. "My, my, Cole, you undersell yourself. You're not exactly what I'd call ugly." He took a drag at his cigarette.

"I'm so flattered, Roy," Cole said with a straight face.

"Were you expecting a nicer answer, Cole?"

Cole quirked a brow; he didn't particularly anticipate anything from the likes of Roy, but he still felt his shoulders relax from mild disappointment. Cole was stunned at himself. What _had_ he expected? "I don't look for much in you, even more so with nice. It's a concept lost on you."

Roy looked as smug as a snake.

"So stop it with the phony praise; you don't need to curry favor with me." Roy wasn't explicitly denying anything; in fact, he was insinuating things of a topic that Cole never veered into before, a territory he never planned on ever venturing into, more than ever with a man such as Roy.

"Cole, getting humble again, I see."

Cole didn't like feeling scrutinized. "I'm afraid the same can't be said of you," he snapped.

Roy grunted, dismissing his comment, "With that kind of character, looks may be the only part that remotely shines for you, partner."

"Did I ask your opinion?"

"You didn't, but I find myself with more than enough freedom to say so as I please," Roy smirked.

Cole would at least give him the benefit of the doubt despite the likelihood that Roy was once more just pulling his leg. "Well, yes, but it's not exactly common for a man to compliment another man on his looks."

He easily pushed the comment aside, "Well, I'm not what you call _common_." Another puff of smoke.

"… That's not what I meant," Cole mumbled, clearly disconcerted. His palms started to accumulate sweat while over the wheel. He hissed at the annoyance and casually wiped them over his pants.

Roy felt a grin creeping up over his lips. He could grasp some level of appeal in provoking Cole like this; it was so personal, so invasive. He was goading him into expressing any kind of emotion, emotion severely lacking aspect in many of their distant chatter. "What _did_ you mean?"

Cole didn't have it in him to openly question Roy on so taboo a topic. His orientation was none of his business, but Roy seemed like he was trying to make it his business. He constantly kept his preference ambiguous what with his misogyny and general dislike of mankind. It was probably most plausible that Roy loved only himself and material things, but he had Cole constantly guessing. "I meant nothing by it."

"So you said all those words, but they all meant nothing," he teased. "That's truly a first."

"Fuck off, Roy."

* * *

How is it so far? They're surprisingly hard to write.


	2. Eyes

LA Noire still doesn't belong to me.

Thanks for those who left a review and etc!

* * *

Warning: Spoiler towards the end of this chapter for those who didn't complete the game.

* * *

The office was spacious, yet Cole always nauseatingly felt cramped while inside.

Lieutenant Colmyer had forced his lips into the fakest smile Cole had ever seen, "Good job, Cole. I like the publicity– This department's hitting the headlines far more often than before." Colmyer patted Cole on the back, a little too roughly to feel gracious. It was stinging slightly at that same spot. "Our most senior detective can surely buy you some drinks for a job well done."

Roy shot him a glare and spat, "Of course." His voice sounded equal parts venomous and charming. The words that came out next though were hardly the latter, "I'll buy Baby Face here all the drinks he could never order without age verification."

Cole cleared his throat, "That won't be necessary." He didn't drink often, and he was less than enthusiastic on sharing a glass with a man who existed as the bane on the department.

"Nonsense!" He turned back to Roy and shot him a look of disdain. "Detective Phelps here deserves at least _that_ much. Don't be tight on your pocket."

The lieutenant's words seemed so forged that Cole couldn't help but grimace. "I can get a drink on my own if I so please..."

Colmyer gave him a stare.

Cole looked to the side and readjusted his tie. "… Sir," he coughed.

Roy chuckled; he found it comical how the visage of someone as uptight and snooty as Cole could warp into such a frightened mouse under superiors. Turning to him with mock compliance, he said, "Phelps, I'm more than willing."

"… Of course you are," Cole sighed deeply. He readjusted his fedora and followed the other detective to his fancy car. He gawkily held out a hand for when Roy would throw him the keys like usual routine.

However, for once, the other got behind the wheel, and patted sarcastically at the seat beside him. "Congratulations, Cole, the people should erect a statue of you in the middle of the Town Square." The engine began to hum as he turned the key on his car.

Cole glanced to the passenger seat then to Roy; he didn't make a move yet. "The criminal was successfully apprehended. That's all that matters in the end."

"You reciting this from your Good Samaritan handbook?"

He sighed, "You never cease to irritate me, Roy." He walked over to the car door and clacked it open, slowly sliding in unto a seat that didn't have a wheel protruding from the front. It felt unusual. He pondered for a second whether he should have sat at the back, but Roy would have only ridiculed him for being so childlike.

"At least I do something right," he mumbled under his breath. "This must be your fiftieth _victory_ here at Ad Vice." He started up the engine and peered at the rear mirror to pull the car out from the space.

"You exaggerate on the numbers."

Roy threw him a smile that had "No shit, Sherlock" pasted all over, Cole throwing one just as malicious back. He drove out to the exit of the parking area, looked lazily from left to right for oncoming cars.

When he started up the car and began to drove, signs of Roy's swagger were apparent at every angle. He leaned back on his seat, one arm over the car door, the other loosely gripping the wheel. Everything about Roy gave the impression of a hypocrite – Whenever Cole relaxed behind the wheel, Roy would make a snide comment on being paid back down to the last cent if so much as a scratch got on his car. However, Roy seemed perfectly comfy doing the same. When Cole was out of cover even for a second during a gunfight, Roy would uncharacteristically scold him in the midst to get behind something while he marched on carelessly, bullets flying past him. _As least you can't call him a coward. _He shifted uncomfortably in his seat when that thought came up. _Why try to justify him?_

Roy drove past buildings familiar, all bright and in splendor at night. Signs were flashing and blinking, Roy cruising past them with little interest. Cole had one arm perched over the car door as he glanced at the neon signs of eateries and the billboards littered with graffiti over dull grey structures.

"Roy, we can just stop by a liquor store and call it a night. I can tell that you're not exactly dripping with enthusiasm at having to treat me," Cole said. He thought it plain and simple that that would be the most fitting conclusion since neither of them was really in the mood for drinks.

"You assume so much from so little, Cole." Despite Cole's best intentions to settle the matter in peace, the suggestion only served to incense Roy. "It's true that you wouldn't be able to tell apart good booze from bad booze. But I for one hand am _not_ about to go slumming."

Cole replied blandly, "Careful Officer, I might misinterpret your blatant hostility and self-interest for actual enjoyment of my company."

"Fine then, I obviously don't want to make that impression."

They drove past The Blue Room, causing Cole to arch an eyebrow. "Do you have some special bar in mind, Roy?"

Roy got the hint. He knew this side of LA far better than Cole did; he could tell what place Cole had expected. "Not in particular. Why don't you propose a place?"

Cole seemed stricken dumbfounded, "… I can't say I'm really the drinking type. I don't know."

"Right, you're no Rusty."

He was about to jump in and defend his former partner when the other continued.

"I know this nice restaurant in the area; has a good selection," he murmured as he took a right turn into a narrower street.

"You're awfully decent, Roy," Cole grumbled.

He sneered at the other, feeling victorious. "What a lousy host would I be otherwise?"

"I don't see you as the type," Cole remarked frostily. The statement wasn't said out of offense, but sincerity. He just couldn't imagine Roy being this benevolent host who treated a group of snobby rich friends to some wine tasting event. His excessively pricey wardrobe and car seemed more a case of ego, not of a want to prove anything to anyone. He wasn't Gatsby. He wasn't Trimalchio. He was Roy Earle.

"Not the nice guy type, Cole? Well, Heaven forbid, what type am I then?"

"… Self serving," Cole said sharply. He didn't need to censor himself before the other. Roy's feelings were not something he needed to tread lightly on.

Roy stayed quiet for what seemed an abnormally long wait for the likes of him.

_Did I finally strike a nerve? _Cole analyzed his face for any irregularities, and for a fracture of a second, he could've sworn that he glanced a true moment of vulnerability in Roy's lifeless blue eyes.

However, Roy became all teeth once more.

The rest of the ride seemed to be awkward only on Cole's part as Roy quietly hummed along with a familiar sounding song on the radio. The bass was thumping loud enough to the point that Cole's ears rang. Finally arriving at the destination, Roy pulled in at a parking lot, stopping in the middle of the entrance and exit. Cole opened his mouth to question such traffic violation, only to see Roy hand over his keys to a young man, a valet.

Cole got of the car uncomfortably, peering at the fancy decorum of the porch of the restaurant. The wooden stairs had a potted plant to each side for every individual step, the doors a fancy glass that pushed inward. Even the valet was dressed in a prim and properly ironed suit. As he entered, a man offered to take his coat. Cole uneasily declined. The walls were a scarlet red, painted exquisitely with gold trim. The ceiling was a classic white, chandeliers dimly lighting the inner rooms of the restaurant, some tables personally lit by candle. To contrast with the deep red hues of the sides, tables and chairs were a cooler sea green. The floorboards were solid and polished, the flat heels of Cole's shoes echoing slightly as they clacked over the surface.

Roy sauntered in after him, tapping Cole on the shoulder, "That eager to march in first, Phelps?"

Cole peered around, spotting the ornate crystal chandelier looming over their heads, "… Roy, this is a little too…"

Roy finished for him, "Too nice?"

_No need to beat around the bush. _"Yes."

"That's not something to complain about, is it?"

"… Roy," Cole said sternly.

Before Cole could finish his sentence, a man with a thinly trimmed pencil mustache approached them behind the table, his expression snobby and unfriendly, "Sir, a table for two?"

Roy laughed, "Do you see a third person?"

"Right this way, sirs." He escorted the two to a table off near the corner. As they walked, smooth jazz could be heard while snooty people chatted away softly enough to still be able to hear the music clearly. Cole felt under-dressed, as everyone attending the restaurant seemed to wear brand name dresses or meticulously ironed suits imported from some foreign country. Roy had no problem fitting in, as he was always over-dressed for his occupation.

It was romantic and ridiculously classy. The joint was far too extravagant to take a simple coworker to. It suited a wedding anniversary or a great date. Cole felt flushed at the undertones. He imagined how ridiculous or how suspect it looked as two men came in to share a bottle of alcohol.

The waiter pulled up their chairs and muttered, "A waiter will be with you two right shortly."

The seats were plush, a side of the table and the seating embedded in the wall. They were a striking scarlet color, the table lit by a small lantern.

Roy seemed use to this sort of swanky atmosphere, "What are you getting?"

"I think I'll just have some coffee."

"What a boring drink, Cole. Matches you."

Cole grimaced, "Then why don't you order for me?"

"One that matches you? Well, watered down beer, then. But, if we're talking taste… How about a cocktail?"

Cole seemed almost apologetic, "… That's rather heavy…"

"If Colmyer's going to make me spend a cent on you, I might as well make it worth the money," he said with a nasty grin to match.

_Charming. _Cole's hand balled into a fist over the counter, "This wasn't necessary in the first place. I could've just lied, said that you treated me."

He chuckled, as if it was preposterous to be hearing the word "lie" come out of Cole's mouth. "I'll play nice. I mean, you are going to be the one doing all the paperwork again, right? A gin martini for a great case man," he smiled.

Cole wasn't going to humor him with another reply.

Roy ordered a bottle of some fancy wine Cole couldn't put a name to. He poured a glass for Cole as well.

_My head's going to be swimming if I drink too much_, he thought as he clutched the glass.

Roy caught his hesitation, "Can't handle a bit of wine, Cole?"

"… You can cancel the martini," Cole grunted as he sipped the wine. It tasted strong, invading his senses with an overflow of grape and alcohol. After a few minutes, it was empty and Roy was refilling it. Cole felt slightly lightheaded as he began to slowly sip the next glass.

Roy held in a snort as Cole continued to sip his alcohol like an adolescent. "This is nicely aged, isn't it?" He took half a mouthful of his own glass.

Cole couldn't tell the difference in taste with the previous wines he's tried. "Yes, thank you," he said hurriedly.

"It's common courtesy to make idle banter when you enjoy a glass." He paused, "What's your favorite color, Cole?"

He was puzzled, "What?"

"We're busy hating each other's guts while at work. Why don't we shelve our hostility for a few minutes?" He raised his glass and raised a brow.

Cole lightly clanked the side of his glass to Roy's, albeit done in a reserved fashion. "Why now?" _Why after you've established your role as an antagonist?_

"Why _not_?" He smiled, and Cole was almost awestruck at how genuine it seemed. The ends of his lips perked up gently, much different from his usual lopsided grin. "We have finely aged wine in our hands and some nice music in the background. If not now, when do we ever strike up a friendship?"

"… I didn't find friendship possible," Cole said straightforwardly.

"Ouch, Phelps." He shrugged it off easily enough. He asked once more, "So, what's your favorite color?"

_That's a juvenile way to start. _Never the less, he pondered on the subject. He gave a generic answer, "… I suppose blue?" At that moment, Cole's eyes reflexively moved up to meet Roy's. They were an icy blue, not the typical tint you saw in most blue eyed folk. Blue eyes were usually the ideal deep Prussian blue or the washed out brown blues of a muddy ocean. Roy had neither, but the color of a cloudless sky, or more fittingly, a menacing glacier in a cold sea.

Roy held his gaze hesitantly before Cole broke it first out of embarrassment.

Cole felt warm at his cheeks; he could only hope that they hadn't changed hue. He coughed into his hand to break the awkwardness.

Roy felt another smile creeping up, "Blue's nice."

"Isn't it common courtesy to answer to a question you asked first?"

Roy chuckled, "I like anything."

"You seem to like warm colors," Cole said, pointing over to Roy's wardrobe. He had on a jacket and a fedora that were based off light reds and browns. His tie and his eyes were the only colors lacking.

"What can I say? Matches my personality," he said sarcastically.

Cole wasn't going to be acknowledging it to himself soon, but he had developed an interest over Roy in due course. He knew very little about the other man, as did many others who had been in the department for times much longer than Cole. He was at constant odds with him, and was always quietly shocked at how much Roy knew about him at first glance. Something about him always managed to intrigue Cole, and now that he had the tables turned, he felt his interest peak a bit from not being the one questioned for once. He could finally find out a bit more about the enigma that was Roy. "What made you join the force, Roy? A Hollywood star seems more appropriate." Cole also liked how their open antagonism for one another made it easy to be up front with each other to a fault. Roy didn't spare his feelings, so neither would he.

"I grew up wanting to have a solid gold bar for a pet. I thought a gold plated badge was close enough by the time I hit my late teens," Roy said with a smirk.

_Defensive. _"You're a good actor, Roy."

"Am I?" He laughed, "Maybe I should have joined theatre." He poured Cole's glass to the brim when he saw it was half empty, as if silently pressuring the other to drink rather than pry.

"What hobbies did you enjoy as a kid?"

"What does any boy like at that age, Cole? You decide."

"I asked _you_, Roy," Cole held out.

"Am I obligated to answer? Do I need to tell the truth?" He drank a bit from his glass and set it back down at his side. He leaned back, one arm over the upper edge of his chair. "Is this an _interview_, Cole?" He enunciated the word sharply.

Cole blinked twice. His tie tightened around him, slightly choking him. Cole reached up to conspicuously loosen the collar at his neck. It might have seemed odd to do so at a table, but the discomfort was unbelievably restricting. Cole muttered, "No, it isn't." Roy leaned in a little close, maybe a feet off from his face, but it felt like inches to Cole. The table had shrunk in length. Roy's elbows were over the table, his thumbs holding up his chin with his hands folded over each other, fingers intertwined.

He opened his mouth to speak, and Cole couldn't tell if the smell of grapes came from him or from his own mouth. "I liked to run around and ride my bike."

Cole's chest let out a lungful of air, heaving once. He breathed out through his nose and took a sip from his glass. The wine didn't relax his tense shoulders as much as he would have liked for it to.

"You, Cole?" He settled comfortably back on the chair.

"… I liked to read," he said evenly. His breathing rate had quickened.

"You seem more the theatre type, Cole? _Shelley_?"

Cole was surprised he remembered such a minute detail. "I studied literature quite a bit." _And the tables are turned back to their initial position._

"You must've been the only one awake at the class. I wasn't much of a reader."

Attention always seemed to be turned back on Cole, but the spotlight only served to burn his forehead. "You downplay yourself."

Roy ignored the comment, "What were some of your favorite works of literature?"

He could tell the battle was lost. "I like Homer's Odyssey and The Iliad if we're talking classic Greek literature. My love of Frankenstein is obvious enough due to Shelley."

Roy feigned recognition at the titles Cole gave. "Impressive."

"Do you remember any particular work?"

"… I vaguely remember The Dangerous Liaisons," Roy answered.

His mouth went a bit dry. He hadn't expected Roy to give a legitimate response. "A story celebrated for its exploration of vengeance and human malice." _How fitting. _"It's quite a feat finishing that book."

"Who said I read it?"

They managed to sustain a pleasing enough discussion, bouncing topics off each other. The celebratory drink was lasting longer than Cole thought it would, but he strangely didn't mind it too much. There had been slight animosity in the air, but that was mostly due to Roy dragging his feet on giving a straight answer to any question about his past. Cole managed to unearth tidbits then and there, but there was no telling to whether Roy had been sincere. The pleasantry eventually ended when Roy held open the right side of his jacket, taking out a cigarette. It seemed short when clutched between two of Roy's long and lean fingers.

"Another smoke, Roy?"

"Why don't you light it for me?" He asked with a familiar flirtatious tone imbued in his voice. His eyelids fell slightly, looking almost lost in thought.

"I don't smoke. So there's no need for me to carry a lighter," Cole said sparsely, his nose wrinkling at having to withstand the stench of smoke once again. A vein in his head pulsed madly.

Roy scoffed, "Fine, Cole," He brought out a silver encased lighter and brought it to the tip of the cigarette clutched between his lips. He exhaled with a contented sigh. He faced Cole, his cigarette still held in his hand. "Why don't you smoke?"

Cole tried to recline in his chair without making his repugnance perceptible. "I'm not fond of the smell." The smell of alcohol, grapes, and cigarettes was a nasty combination to him, dulling his usually sharp senses to the point of sluggishness. His head was spinning a bit from the alcohol consumption.

"The smell of burning pervading your senses isn't pleasant to you?" Roy's eyes had a certain twinkle to them, a lighthearted jest in tone but dark in meaning.

Cole's hands trembled for a while. He folded then unfolded his fingers, feeling sweat that had accumulated. He felt his mind slipping, flashing back to the memory of Japanese civilians burning, agonizing screams drowning his ears and smoke and ashes of crisping flesh filling his lungs. He screamed, his voice dying away from the trauma of the horror unfolding about him. He paced back and forth, issuing commands. There were people staring at him, their faces muddied and their eyes a stark white. A bullet in his back, blood searing out from under his jacket.

A warm hand shook his shoulder.

Cole licked his dry lips then rubbed at his drier eyes. He looked up to see his partner out of his seat, still clutching a cigarette with his right hand, his left firmly planted over Cole's shoulder.

"Give me a _warning_ before you blank out like some comatose fuck," Roy snarled. His voice was still at moderate volume so as to not attract further attention, but he sounded aggressive enough.

"I – I was _out_?" Cole dumbly mumbled, clutching his forehead.

"_Yes_, you were," Roy said hardheartedly. "For a few minutes, you stared at me without blinking." His hand loosened his grip on Cole's shoulder, before pressing hard once and letting go.

Cole detected authentic concern in his voice. The warmth on his shoulder started to vanish, fading back to its former cold.

"I thought it normal behavior until your glass wobbled in your hand." He sat back down on the seat from across Cole. "Christ, you do this often?" He tried to break into a laugh, but it sounded strained.

Cole pinched the bridge of his nose to quench the aching. "I – I think I just need a little more to drink."

Roy sounded skeptical. "Really? Golden Boy's going to go home drunk and distressed?"

Cole reached for his glass, but Roy's hand wrapped over his, stopping him briefly. They felt warm on his shoulder, but even more so at bare contact. He looked up to glare, trying to ignore the fuzzy tingling sensation on his skin as Roy's hand lingered for longer than necessary. "You can drive," he said.

Roy seemed annoyed. Goosebumps lightly formed on Cole's arm, hairs standing on end. He shrugged and lifted his hand, albeit reluctantly. Vague alarm put a strain on his usually deadpan voice, "Your funeral, partner." He turned his attention back to his cigarette, inhaling then exhaling out quietly, keeping a steady eye on Cole all the while.

He took multiple sips. The lukewarm liquid travelled down his throat, but it couldn't compare to the warmth felt on his shoulder and over his hand moments before. Cole shuddered, the tug at his chest buried to the back of his head along with the rest. His legs were asleep.

* * *

They talk a lot.

Any feedback would be appreciated. :)


	3. Inhale

I really appreciate everyone reading, reviewing, and etc. I'm glad some of you guys feel they're in character as well. I can't stand out-of-character-ness myself.

* * *

Cole glanced down at the liquid surface of his wine, small ripples forming from the slight quake of his fingers as they clutched the drink. His subconscious advised against it and his body wasn't able to take much more abuse, yet his hands were unable to obey. They constantly put the rim of the glass back up to his mouth, sip after sip, like a broken record. He was getting intoxicated, his rationale drowning out, all while Roy looked as if he were perfectly stable.

"You'd think you'd stop drinking after nearly blacking out." Cole Phelps, a man who was the embodiment of professionalism, was falling apart right before him. To Roy, this was the best comedy stint he'd seen in a long time, his definition of comedy poles apart from normal views. "What is this – your sixth glass?"

Cole tried to grunt out an "I know," but his lips seemed to quake and quiver wordlessly. He wondered if he was making sense or making words up on spot, his head swaying side to side all the while. Cole was the type of drinker whose intelligence deteriorated with every supplementary glass, while Roy seemed to be the one who got progressively chattier. _Or maybe it's just the migraine making his voice sound more obnoxious than usual._

"What's with your fumbling, Cole? You sound like you have a speech impediment," Roy chuckled. The cigarette was a near stub at that point. He dusted off the residue, inhaling one last time before discarding it in the ash tray at the center of the table.

His voice came out with an odd drawl, "And whose fault may that be?"

"Excuses," he groaned. "I pour them – doesn't mean you _have_ to drink them."

"Waste of wine then." He sputtered a bit on the next drink.

"You don't get to say that. I'm the one paying." Roy was gradually pouring less and less, this time it being only a quarter full.

"I suppose I should try to clean you out while I'm at it," Cole said, raising his glass. He thought out loud, "I can barely taste it at this point." He slapped himself at the realization. _I can't even keep words in._

He laughed at that, "Great date, huh, Cole? I've already gotten you drunk."

_Date. _Cole muttered uncertainly, "You really like that word." He wasn't too sure, but he felt like his mouth hung open, his tongue looser and his pronunciation slurred.

It was a miracle that Roy was able to make out what he said, "Which one? You mean Cole?" Roy repeated it, "Cole."

His voice sounded soothing to Cole's buzzing ears, echoing in then out through his ear canals. Trying to keep alert, he snapped out of it, realizing how his attentiveness had been repetitively slipping in then out at random intervals after maybe the fourth drink. _Was it his seventh now?_

He pressed on it with the same suggestive overtone seeping into each letter, "I'll admit it, there's a certain ring to it."

Naïve curiosity doubtlessly brought on from the alcohol, Cole repeated after him, "A certain ring to it?"

"The monosyllabic name fits with your flat personality, Cole," he said boorishly, his silky tone divergent from the coarse words that came out.

What Roy said was seldom one way or the other; they were often a mixture of both good and bad. He would say kind things with the foulest of say or the rudest remarks with inopportune charisma. Cole would have been offended if it wasn't for Roy's faulty logic. Perhaps the wine had affected them both. "What about your name, _Roy_?" He made sure to enunciate, so Roy couldn't savor his triumph.

He smiled, partly at his own blunder and mostly at Cole's obfuscating speech. "That's the thing; I never did think my first name really fit me. But when you put it together, Roy Earle rolls right off the tongue."

"And Cole Phelps doesn't?"

Roy knitted his brows, whispering "Cole Phelps" to himself twice. His eyes closed, he brought up a hand in defeat. "You got me there," he laughed derisively. "Easy on the eyes, easy on the ears… Is there anything you're not capable of?"

Cole felt that sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach once more. The words themselves weren't overtly suggestive or vulgar, but the way Roy said them was far from socially passable among even the closest of friends. Such a tone of voice went past jovial teasing to downright erotic nuances. He gulped silently, finally admitting to himself the impact of such words on him. He was one of the atypically open-minded fellows in a time of conservatism and censorship. By no means would he ever damn such taboo forms of love, but he never thought viable his being attracted to another man, moreover attracting other men. He didn't consider himself handsome or even semi-nice-looking, so it flabbergasted him that someone as high maintenance as Roy would aim lower than his societal class and pay. He gave a small sigh to try and break from this subject._ Or maybe, more plausibly, I'm just flattering myself. _He tried to muster up a comeback to disperse the oddly intimate cloud looming over them, "Well, I'm not the best drinker, am I?"

He never allowed Cole to make fun of himself – it was as if that job was reserved purely for him. "You handled six glasses. That's a strong stomach."

Cole rubbed his tongue over the roof of his mouth; it had begun to lose all feeling, nerves numbed. "You don't look tipsy."

"No, I don't." He paused, cunningly pulling the attention back toward Cole, "You're a good sort of drunk though."

_He does that a lot. _Cole sounded dubious, not wanting to make room for another insult to come his way. "Is there such a thing?"

"Not preaching madly over the countertops, not spilling embarrassing secrets," He rolled his eyes. "Not violent or yell-y at all – Yeah… I think that's the best it can get."

He frowned; _Yell-y is not proper terminology. _Yet, Cole felt himself smiling. To hear a grown man speak such silly self-made words artlessly was almost endearing, but he couldn't entirely bury the idea that maybe Roy was just putting up a front once more. Cole quickly tuned in before his distraction was made noticeable.

"I'm beginning to like drunken Cole more than the usual Cole," Roy said with approval.

Cole sounded dubious, "Considering how little _like_ you have for the usual, I wouldn't call it too big of a difference."

"You'd be surprised."

And that he was; Cole was looking like a deer caught in headlights. He chose to sidetrack himself by staring at the wine bottles, one of which was empty. Cole couldn't tell if they had truly finished an entire one together; he hadn't exactly been counting the number of glasses. Nauseatingly enough, his sight was overlapping one another, looking more like four bottles than two. Throughout the night, Cole had yet to see Roy refill his own glass more than once. _Did I finish the bottle myself then?_

"For such a prudish and uptight man, you're loosening up a lot tonight."

_Too much for my taste. _"Maybe you should treat me more," he grumbled over an incoming hiccup.

"Maybe I should."

Cole heard his voice, but hearing wasn't listening. Wine had slackened his handle on words at that point. He strained to hold up his head so as to not peer down. "I didn't quite get that."

Teasingly, he asked with a smirk, "Shall I repeat myself?"

He quirked a brow at Roy's peculiarly coy behavior, "I don't see why not."

His bright blue eyes scanned the room carefully. His legs were crossed under the table, one knee bent over the other in arrogant posture. The tip of his shoe was visible from below. He narrowed his eyes back to Cole, "I'll treat you to something nicer than this, and maybe in a less formal get up." He sat back properly, his arms folded over the other and unable to simply stay at his sides like Cole's did. His hands were always doing something: whether it was playing around with a lighter, clutching a cigarette, or fiddling with a trigger on a gun. Within close examination, Roy's pale, unblemished hands came across as too perfect for the dirty hands-on job a cop had. Cole grimaced. They fit a sensitive pianist better than they did a rugged mug of an officer.

Looking up from Roy's hands to his face, Cole said uneasily, "I can't imagine nicer than this." He tried to maintain a smile, but felt it dropping as he talked. _You don't take a coworker to a place like this, _repeated like a mantra inside of his head.

He scoffed, "Money can do wonders."

Maintaining a straight gaze at Roy, he finally managed to say, "It's getting late, Roy. I think we should go."

"It was _late_ an hour ago, Cole. Now, it's downright suspicious." As Roy called for the check, Cole excused himself, grabbing his fedora that was balanced over the finial of the chair.

Trying hard not to stumble, Cole walked himself straight to the restroom where he splashed cold water against his face. It relieved him a bit, not being woken to the point of being clear-headed, but being more aware than he was when lounging in his chair and drowning in wine. He could see why this state of mind was so desirable to Rusty; walking in this narrow line between stone-cold sober and downright drunk was probably the most peace at mind a thinker like Cole could get. Staring at the mirror, he _felt_ lucid. He looked around the equally glamorous restroom. The sinks were classic porcelain, wiped to a near twinkle as Cole turned the water off. He was just surprised there wasn't a man standing about with a moustache and a towel draped over his forearm to accommodate the clientele.

The door tottered, another patron wandering in. He stared at Cole oddly seeing as how he was standing dead still before the sink. Cole cleared his throat, slipped on his fedora, and quickly walked out without making eye contact. He had only blinked before realizing that he had already somehow moved himself to the exit. His body wasn't functional or receptive, veering toward near negligence when he tried and tried to grasp the door handle. When his hand finally met with the cold steel, no matter how much he pushed at it, it wouldn't budge. A nearby attendant pulled open the door for him. Cole's face felt hot, _Of course you pull – there was a handle there for a reason. _He mentally slapped himself at the idiot logic he sported.

Having paid, Roy met up with Cole who waited outside for the valet to pull up the car. He was smirking, having seen Cole's brief tumble with the door. He put a hand on Cole's back and leaned into his ear. "Your face is bright red."

Hot air came in contact with skin, and Cole felt his face burning hotly. _Well, I am drunk. _He looked up with befuddlement, only for Roy to casually pass him by and walk over to the car. Cole followed, trying his best not to fumble his steps and to walk in a relatively straight line. He sat on the passenger seat, suddenly feeling claustrophobic when Roy got in beside him.

A slow purr of the engine, then the blunt question: "Will your wife mind?"

Cole sounded more defensive than he hoped, "Mind _what_?"

He yawned, being sober enough to still feel fatigue. "Be more perceptive, Cole."

"I've gone home later than this – she won't mind."

"It's already tomorrow, and you're saying _later_? My, my, Cole, she must be really bug-eyed if she doesn't meet even your standards."

He snapped, "I'm _not_ avoiding her." Guilt had suddenly flooded his senses; Cole knew he hadn't done anything physically wrong – But the shame was palpable. "Just drive me home, Roy."

Roy didn't take to the sudden urgency, "Sounds more like a command than a request."

"I'll walk home if I have to."

"From here on, Cole? Are you so eager to embarrass yourself in front of your family, home late, drunk, _and_ sweaty?"

He couldn't tolerate the chronic mention of his family. He knew exactly what Roy was implying – Roy saw it better than anyone else his problems at home and Cole couldn't stomach it for much longer. He reacted with much sourness, "I don't understand why you assume eager."

"… My bad, after all, extra paperwork if you get the chance, right?"

Cole's ears went flush red. The night had started with regular bickering and arguing, both of them maintaining their guard while discussing trivial subjects, but it had abruptly begun to spiral for the worst halfway through, Roy seeing him at his most embarrassing. He had hidden such a pathetic sight from everyone he loved, only to bare it to Roy all at once. "I'm human, Roy. I don't necessarily have to like my work." He accidentally nicked the skin off his tongue. "It's the results that count."

"Forever the knight in shining armor," he said. "If not eager for work, then eager to avoid…"

"Roy…"

He looked at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Look at you, trying to sound all dignified after finishing a bottle by yourself. You have steely resolve, Cole."

"I humiliated myself enough."

A low chuckle came out. "… Are you feeling hazy again?"

"… No."

* * *

A strong aroma pervaded the air. Cologne was embedded into the soft fabric Cole's nose was constantly digging into. He felt as if he was falling down, his head drooping and bobbing with each movement, but gravity was not a law he followed at the moment.

There were two pairs of footsteps that clacked over concrete, one which was probably his own, but he was too out of it to really have the care to know. His right arm was draped over sturdy shoulders, held on to tightly at the wrist to keep him somewhat upright – His left arm dangling uselessly at its respective side. Familiar warmth filled his sides, his waist being held by what seemed to be another person's hand. Cole's fingertips grazed the foreign hand, and then wrapped fingers over it absently. His half-lidded eyes fleeted over to the front and to the side lazily, finally closing for good after glimpsing blue eyes that shone even in shadow.

* * *

Birds chirped and trees rustled from out of the windowpane. It was a peaceful and surprisingly windy morning in Los Angeles. His ears muted out nature's alarm while his eyes obstinately remained closed. They only yielded once daylight flowed in from the window. _Did Marie open the curtains? _He heard footsteps and a string quartet playing out from the radio in the kitchen, quietly assuring Cole that it was indeed her. Gritting his teeth at the painful sight, he snuggled back into the covers before sighing from the inevitable wake. Pulling off the covers abruptly, he swung his legs to the side of the bed, hanging them over the edge by a centimeter. His eyes felt like they were drooping past his chin, Cole rubbing them tiredly so as to not creep back into a stubborn slumber. Every vein at his head pulsated brutally from the drunken stupor just the night before. He had lost count of how many he'd drunk at that restaurant. _What a sight I must have been – passing out, then getting drunk, and then passing out again._

Ruffling his tussled hair, he stretched out his arms and back before stepping on to the cold floorboards of his house. He stood over his sink, splashing some water over his murky feeling face, staring quietly at the mirror before him. His face was numb, his eyes far from bloodshot but feeling itchy. The hangover was excruciating, but Cole managed to restrain himself from groaning out loud. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling his arms out of the sleeves groggily. He noted how they were same clothes he had worn yesterday night. Neatly folding the shirt in half then half again, he set it down over his dresser.

Marie wandered back into the room, "Sweetheart, you're awake." She sounded as cheery as she usually did, kissing him once on the cheek before picking up his folded shirt. Her delicate fingers patted out the wrinkles and the musk that clung to the fabric.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "… Why didn't you wake me?" He rolled his shoulder back, making a small "crack."

"You needed the sleep, Cole. You're looking more and more like a raccoon."

"There's no need to worry, Marie."

"Don't mind me." She made a flapping motion with her hand before her face, scrunching her nose. "Do me and the girls a favor and take a shower," she laughed.

He scratched his scalp, "Around what time did I come in last night?"

She sounded perturbed, "Some time past midnight, I was sleeping at the time." She paused, "The doorbell rang and your…"

"What?"

She hesitated on the choice of words, "… _Friend_ was holding you up at the door."

Cole grimaced. Roy was hardly someone he could call a "friend." He also couldn't imagine Roy having carried him to the door so genially. _A guy with an expensive salmon colored suit and a bright red, shiny Cadillac must have made a lasting impression on her._ "He was my partner. You can relax – He wasn't some shady character."

She huffed, "I didn't say that, did I?" She recalled back to the sight of Cole bordering on a coma as he draped himself over the other's man shoulders. Marie sounded a little heartbroken at the next statement, "You know you have a low toleration for alcohol, Cole."

He stayed silent.

"You shouldn't be drinking that much." She put a hand to his cheek and rubbed it lovingly with the most poignant of smiles. "People do silly things when they're drunk, don't they?"

"I suppose."

"Don't do silly things," she murmured bleakly. She was stone-faced and her grip seemed to tighten.

His voice took on a hard edge when she implied things that he wasn't: an alcoholic, "I don't." However, he gave a warm smile back and put his hand over hers, "The lieutenant insisted that I drink in celebration for a case we completed."

She withdrew her hand, her voice perking up, "Oh? Is it another promotion, Cole?"

"It's nothing like that."

Marie's emotions were immediately apparent, mild disappointment tinting her round features. "I hope you had fun then – You overwork yourself," her words immediately rang hollow, sounding shallow. "Anyway, take a shower." She glanced to the set table, "I have breakfast ready." Shortly after, she turned around to leave.

Cole sighed, making his way to the bathroom to strip out of his musty smelling clothes. As hot water ran on his back, he hissed quietly, liking the sound water made as it dripped unto the tiles underneath.

Marie was kind and pretty, but it had been years since he had connected with her on an emotional level. They repeated the same routine every day, Marie preparing him and the girls breakfast then kissing him at the door, Cole going to work and coming back late from taking extra shifts. It was as if he were avoiding her by drawing out his work hours, but Marie never seemed to mind or miss him for that matter, never voicing her opinion more than required. She was content being the classic image of a bland and docile housewife. If she did suffer, she did so quietly and discreetly, just as Cole did. _A marriage made in heaven_, the phrase resounded through his head bitterly.

He ran a rough hand through his scalp, slicking back his bangs, soap foaming at his hands. _The course of true love never did run smooth. _He doubted such words as soon as he thought it, a sinking feeling in his stomach as the water continued to bathe him. A single word resonated throughout his head: _True._

* * *

Having no car to ride to work from being driven home by Earle, Phelps instead chose to hail a cab walking a bit of a distance so that Marie wouldn't unnecessarily fuss over him.

He was dressed in a plain white button down with a faded brown, pinstriped waistcoat. A beige fedora adorned his head, made of thinner, cheaper material than his other ones. The jacket was easily abandoned considering how he usually took it off anyway.

Calmly walking up the steps at the building to his designated workplace, he sat down at his chair, pulling up the creaking window to let in a gust of the wind he had felt in the morning. It had mostly disappeared at the time he arrived in his office, the sun having risen into the center of the sky. He breathed in some of the much needed air. The backseats of the cab he rode ran afoul with stenches unimaginable, being unable to roll down a window at the fear of having his fingers come in contact with the sticky substance littered over the handle. Cringing at the detail, he sat forward, perching his elbows on the desk. He quietly dreaded the moment where he'd meet eyes with Roy Earle, the inevitable ridicule to come.

"Work," he murmured.

As soon as he grabbed for his pen, Colmyer strolled in, "Phelps!" The wrinkles on his face were further exaggerated from the angry expression he bore. Cole could count the number of crevasses clear as day.

He slid his chair back, making an unpleasant scraping sound. He stood up halfway, one hand over the chair, the other over the desk. "Yes, sir?"

"Earle's sitting out today; for the meanwhile, you can finish up the case reports," he made a tapping noise with the tip of his shoe.

"Alright, I will," he sighed. Colmyer turned on his heel to leave. A question escaped him, "Did he specify the reason for his absence?" He sweated nervously in anticipation.

The lieutenant seemed annoyed at being held back, but answered anyway. "He called in sick. But bullshit, it's coming out of his pay." He pointed his finger at Cole in derision, "Be sure to tell him."

Cole nodded, sitting back down. He ran his hands over his hair then massaged the back of his neck that seemed to suddenly throb and ache. He hid it well before others, but frankly, Cole's head felt like it was imploding.

Already ashamed from exposing too much of his vulnerability yesterday, he tried to suppress the feeling that his head collapsed on itself whenever he wiggled a brow. _Why Roy of all people? _He peered down at his feet then around the stuffy room.

Eyes automatically went to the desk across from him. _He didn't even have much to drink…_

* * *

Cole felt his eyelids dropping as he drove. The sun had fallen and it was dark out, but this was ironically one of his earliest leaves. He had finished the case report, gone driving to assist in street crimes, and the day had come to its end. No case was assigned due to the absence of his partner. The wheel moved mechanically, his arms turning it left and right, and before he knew it, he had parked before The Blue Room. Ever since Roy had first introduced him to the place, he found himself oddly attached. A slow hum could be heard. The lights were bright at the club and the music was somewhat audible from even outside.

Alfonse welcomed him in then brought him to a table. Cole nervously unraveled the cloth napkin, fumbling about with it. When the waiter came to take his order, he started folding it back to its original state, ordering a simple scotch.

_The look in your eyes will turn to surprise  
As you feel the pain and you realize  
The one hurting you is somebody who once said:_

_"I love you."_

_Someday we'll pay back all we've borrowed_  
_What we love today we'll lose tomorrow_  
_But I won't need to wait for my share of sorrow_  
_'Cause I always kill the things I love_

Cole silently sipped at a glass of scotch as he sat somberly on a table across from Elsa who sang on stage. She swayed lifelessly over the stage, her songs always on the subject of lost love and grief while having a somewhat upbeat tempo. He looked at her wearily as she sang, the band accompanying her sultry vocals from behind.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Marie had noticeably become more suspicious of his whereabouts nowadays, his frequent excuse of working overtime increasing her wariness. Cole's guilt began to accumulate more and more, due to his refusal to speak about his past, the disconnection he began to feel from his wife and kids, and the feelings that gnawed at his gut whenever he lazily eyed Elsa. Her songs were always slow, her voice oddly seductive and unfitting for her look. She was by no means, a highly attractive or desirable woman, yet she had this air about her that exuded tragedy and sincerity. _She has a past._

He met eyes with her, and she narrowed her eyes knowingly, not breaking the contact. He swallowed the last of his scotch.

_I won't need to wait for my share of sorrow  
'Cause I already kill the things I love_

_The things I love_

_The things I love_

She met with him, quietly waiting at the door to the alleyway, her eyes never judging but always analyzing him.

When she undressed, the former ounce of guilt quickly fled him, Cole focusing only on the passion as she ran a hand over him, her soft fingertips grazing the little hairs on his forearm, having them stand on end. He ran fingers through her tussled hair – curled at the ends from being in a tight bun for so long. Her hand ran down his spine as they held each other underneath the covers. A shudder escaped his lips. They felt cold.

* * *

Another morning had come and passed: kissing Marie on the cheek then leaving in his average car to work. Cole tried to finish the most of his breakfast sandwich during the car ride to maximize output. He grimaced; it felt dry inside of his mouth, the bread cooled from its crispy state, its contents stubbornly sticking to the roof of his mouth. He smacked his lips once then twice.

The door to his office was shut when he reached the floor. Holding his breath, Cole stepped into the room, releasing it once seeing that it was empty once more.

_He's not here again. _Slight disappointment was felt, but just as quickly was waved off.

He sat down at his desk, furtively glancing at the empty one across from his. Cole glanced up from the report he was typing to the piles of papers over his desk. It didn't seem to shrink no matter how much he felt he had accomplished over the last hour. _Maybe I can give the illusion of a reduced workload if I stack them. _For the next few minutes, the sound of papers shuffling occupied the empty room, Cole systematically arranging them into orderly stacks by date. He stared at the end result.

It didn't help.

_I need a bit of fresh air. _He recalled back to the terrace overlooking the rest of the block. _Maybe I should stretch my neck for a minute or two. _

He slid his chair back, cracking a shoulder before stepping to the side and out to the walkway. Some of the doors were open a crack and some of them open all the way. Cole curiously peered in, seeing other men in stuffy suits attacking their work with their usual gusto. Most of them took breaks far too generously, smoking out on the terrace or drinking a cup of water at the cooler, chatting away about unimportant matters. Usually their regular banter consisted of bets made on an upcoming game or run of the mill gossip about the most recent scandal on the news. People always seemed to have a morbid fascination about the train wrecks of Hollywood, trashy magazines littering the newspaper stands nearby. Belatedly realizing that he had been pacing back and forth awkwardly, Cole made his way to the terrace, feeling an uncomfortably warm but rare California breeze flutter by his tie, cringing when the familiar smell of cigarette smoke came in contact with his nose. _Someone's smoking again. _

Placing his folded arms over the railing, he sniffled, feeling dusty air run up his nostrils. Although he rarely owned up to it, he felt slight envy about the companionship some of his fellow detectives had with one another. His own personality was daunting to many despite the modesty he tried to exude in the way he spoke and carried himself. Perhaps it was such reserve and humility that made him unapproachable. He breathed in slowly, before sniffling again. Putting a palm to his forehead, he tried approximating the temperature in case of sickness.

"You got a cold, Phelps?"

A sharp intake of breath, but not much surprise to accompany it; Cole didn't need to turn to see who it was. His voice was easily distinguishable, sort of deep with the sleaze old school villains sported. Roy Earle was one of the few men in the department who regularly chatted with him during breaks, often starting up work-unrelated dialogue. "I might." He leaned in to savor one more breeze before pushing back from the bar.


	4. Knowing

Sorry for such a delayed chapter. Thank you to those who are still giving this a go.

And even after a year, LA Noire still doesn't belong to me.

* * *

"How was your first experience with a hangover?" His eyes looked playful. "It's too bad that I missed it." But his voice sounded somewhat distant. "You were practically diving into my arms that night," Roy snorted.

"… Trust me, Roy. That's not something I'd do sober."

"Ha, well… Only the rich can afford debauchery from time to time," Roy laughed.

Cole turned his head to the side in disdain. To say he disliked the other's constant showboating was an understatement – what with the car, the suits, and the fancy invites. "Keep treating me to such places, and I'll have amassed a million dollar debt to you by the time I hit forty."

"That's the plan anyway," Roy smiled, cocking his head to the side to stare at him. "Speaking of a treat… You look like you could use a caffeine boost."

"You don't." Roy seemed unfazed from last night's heavy drinking. He often saw him smoking heavily, so adding alcohol to the corrupt cop's never-ending list of depravities didn't seem so far-fetched.

Cole's aside went fully ignored by the other detective. "How about a notch down from yesterday; maybe a nice café?" He added condescendingly while pointing to Cole's faded waistcoat, "You can wear that dusty number there." He leaned in to inspect Cole's fatigued face, where dark bags were developing. When Cole turned to the side to draw away from his probing stare, Roy wrenched his face back forward by the jaw.

"What the hell, Roy!?"

"You're looking like you crawled out of a casket." Roy's hand reached out to touch the other's face, but stopped mid-air and withdrew as if burnt. Cole's eyes closed, a small moment of susceptibility that shamed him.

Paying no heed to his jibe and massaging his jaw, Cole asked with valid provocation, "Where were you yesterday, Roy?" He hadn't missed any dates before. Colmyer and Roy didn't seem to be on the best terms, but even then the lieutenant was suspiciously easygoing on the other's schedule. "Got sick laughing too hard at me?"

That served to stridently shake the other out of his ease. "The world doesn't revolve around you," he muttered.

Cole felt a stab. He was unsure of where and why though. "Why did you take sick leave?"

He proceeded to walk back toward the building. "I was off minding my own business." He didn't venture past the shadowed frame of the structure, instead turning around and choosing to lean against the wall coolly. "How long have you known me, Cole?"

Momentarily stunned by the other's enmity, Cole faltered before regaining composure just as quickly. "Clearly long enough."

"How cute," he casted aside the previous biting tone of his voice and smirked half-knowingly. "I was just teasing you. Look, I had a small _errand_ to run." The word was spoken innocuously and nonchalantly over his tongue, but Cole knew better than to believe any second of it. Discomforting silence lingered in the air. Roy approached the other, walking around him to drape a hand over the supportive frame of the metal railing. He reappeared to the blurred left of Cole's peripheral vision. Cole had yet to really observe him. "So, my offer still stands," he half turned to look at him.

He hadn't anticipated a repeat of the invite, "You've been strangely cordial the last few days, Roy."

The smile dropped. "And you don't like that?"

"… Quite out of character of you to be so generous; do you feel you can gain something in the long run with my trust?"

Roy's eyes revealed malice. "Garnering the trust of the department Golden Boy whose lovable face is flooding the newspapers all around town? – No, I don't feel I can gain anything in particular," he muttered, quickly moving past the sensitive subject. "Are you up for a non-alcoholic beverage or not? God, you're really dancing around a simple yes or no."

He narrowed his eyes to stare warily before relaxing the pressure exerted on his eyelids. He answered honestly, most of his boiling hostility having cooled to a dismissive lukewarm. "I actually have some paperwork to do."

"Always the excuses on paperwork," he said smoothly, a hint of aggression tainting the otherwise friendly tease. "Just what do you _do_ behind closed doors, Detective?"

Those words rang inside his head. Roy always pried into his private life, even when it was evident that he already knew every dirty secret there was to know. Cole rocked back and forth a bit on the soles of his feet, "Are you… Are you threatening me, Roy?" Cole felt his face draining color as he spoke.

Roy's eyes darkened, "What could I possibly threaten you with? You're cleaner than a doorknob."

The irony wasn't lost on him.

He playfully hit Cole's arm with the back of his hand. "Isn't that right, Phelps?"

He dared not retaliate; being drawn into another debate was the last thing on Cole's mind. He instead shrugged his shoulders indifferently, purposefully evading the wearisome subject. Roy had this dangerous way of subtly inciting a person to follow through on his requests, whether it was through the usage of charm or the more frequent act of aggravating a person into drained submission. There were rare occurrences when he didn't get his way, and Cole was deeply troubled by just how easily he dangled others on a thin piece of string.

Roy scowled at the lack of impact his slur had on the other, and instead looked off into the distance. He said with faint ire, "Don't worry – I couldn't care less about your petty fling."

Cole didn't want reassurance from a crook. "… You have more dirt on you than all the other cops here combined." His lips twitched. "Don't think you have the upper hand." Cole whispered, sounding somewhat unsure and bashful. His heart was running a mile a minute, and he could only think about how foolish he looked, provoking the wrath of a man with the affair to hang over him.

"I see…" He trailed off silently, before anger dawning on his usually resistant face. "So Cole here isn't without teeth himself…" His voice sounded gravelly, "Don't go on making enemies now."

"Making? I believe it's _made_."

He didn't sport a charming face at the moment, instead snarling, "Get off from your high horse. I said: _Don't_ _worry_."

Cole turned on his heel to look straight at him. "What do you feel you can gain from this?"

Roy let out a guttural laugh, built up from the recess of his stomach to up his cigar-stained throat. It travelled out in all directions, overwhelming Cole's already ringing ears. "... Only time will tell," he said with ambiguity. "Are you someone I should be pushing off their pedestal? Or, are you more useful to me as a king? Do you even deserve that _medal_?"

Cole's eyes opened so far wide that every muscle about his face exerted immense pressure. Despite being abstract phrases that could apply to generally anything, Roy's words often hit the nail on its head. Breathing regularly was all of a sudden impossible. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His throat was drier than the deserts. _He's alluding to the war. _His thoughts snapped to every firefight he underwent in Vice.

Many things about Roy bothered him – bothered him _immensely_. But, a small, little thing – one that no one cared about in Roy, bothered him the most out of anything else: Roy Earle had the same military issued .45-caliber Colt that Cole carried in his holster. It was a small detail that he always noticed from their first firefight together. There was a long pause before he mustered up enough moisture in his throat to form the next words, "… Were you in the war?" … _Is he here to hang the shame over my head?_

The naked eye could not have possibly caught the momentary slip in Roy's perpetual smile, but Cole detected it with eyes unrivaled. Roy was already sneering as he said: "What nonsense are you spouting now, Phelps?"

"Were you in the war?" He repeated with more aggression. Cole was trained to read faces for irregularities, but he quickly realized Roy's was harder to study than most.

"Jobs don't just wait around; I've been Senior Detective of the Vice Desk for quite a while. … That's enough of a hint, isn't it?" He paused. "Why the war all of a sudden?"

Cole turned around, away from him in frustration. _He doesn't know. Not that much._ Roy's attention suddenly peaked, boring a hole into the back of Cole's head. Cole could feel him walking forward. First, a mere foot away. Then, a step. Now, he felt only inches away from his own skin.

In a hushed tone, Roy whispered in his ear: "Did you fuck up, _Lieutenant_?"

Cole heard it loud and clear, the loudest and the clearest he's heard in a long while. No one outside of his squadron knew about his failures. To everyone, he was still the shining beacon of a marine, an officer, and a detective. He never underwent catharsis, never gave himself the chance to. All the spite he deserved from the city's people had come from only a single source previously: from Roy.

Roy simply waited.

Cole tried to get a word in, "I –"

A passerby carelessly rapped at the glass door that led out to the terrace, "Hey! You're missing the briefing!" He glanced over curiously at the unusually close proximity that Roy and Cole stood from each other – their faces were only inches away from each other. Cole glanced over to recognize him as a fellow detective of Vice Desk. The man furrowed his brow before turning to leave wordlessly.

Any trace of Cole's second long slip was gone. The two met eyes fiercely, Cole's light green eyes corresponding with Roy's light blue ones. Breaking into a scornful laugh, Roy placed a hand over his back, "… You take me too seriously." He pointed a thumb over to the briefing room, "Let's go."

Cole's bottom lip quivered, holding in his anger, brusquely shoving past a calm Roy to stomp off to the room.

Another triumphant sneer before he too entered into the building, "Like a kid with a tantrum."

* * *

Next chapter to come... Uhh, hopefully quicker than this one had.


End file.
